The Through Your Eyes Affair
by autumnrose2010
Summary: Several years after resigning from UNCLE, Illya is working as a fashion designer when a beautiful woman from his past needs his help once again.
1. Chapter 1

She opened her eyes, but all she could see were shadows, various shades of grey. "Where am I?" she asked, trying desperately to squelch the panic rising inside her. "What happened?"

"There was an accident," an unfamiliar male voice told her. "The bus in which you were riding exploded. You were hit in the head, very hard."

"But why can't I see anything?"

"The part of your brain that controls sight was damaged, but it's too early to ascertain how much of the damage was permanent. Time will tell."

"Do you mean to tell me that I may never see any better than this again, ever?" Her shrill voice held a note of panic.

"There, there," said a soothing female voice as a soft hand patted her arm. "It's far too early to give up all hope. You may well make a full recovery. Just try to get some rest, all right? Everything will seem better then."

Yet all she could think about was the blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the brilliant hues of everyday life that she'd taken for granted up until now. How could she bear to live a life devoid of them? It was simply too much for her to comprehend.

* * *

He'd just finished preparing the photographs when the telephone rang. He'd been busy all week, preparing for the spring fashion show, and he'd been absorbed with finding the very best designs to promote Vanya's. It was a far cry from his previous career of pursuing justice all over the world, of dodging bullets and outsmarting villains. Those had been the days when he literally hadn't known from day to day whether he'd be alive to see another sunrise. Now the worst thing he had to worry about was negative reviews in fashion magazines.

"Mr. Kuryakin? Sir John Raleigh here." Illya felt slight annoyance yet, at the same time, a rush of adrenaline. Sir John Raleigh had taken over Alexander Waverly's position at UNCLE after the latter had retired. Illya himself had resigned from UNCLE several years previously, and had thought that he'd seen the last of his crook chasing days. _Apparently I was wrong, _he thought to himself.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I desperately need your help, and that of Mr. Solo as well," Sir Raleigh continued. "We suspect that Gervaise Ravel may be behind a recent bus bombing, as one of the victims was someone you know."

_Gervaise Ravel. _The dark-haired beauty had been a ruthless killer who, together with her partner, Harold Bufferton, had killed Gregory Ravel and threatened the life of his daughter, Marion.

_Marion. _She'd been his for such a brief period of time, and yet he'd never been able to get her out of his mind. He'd dated several women casually since the last time he'd seen her, yet none of them had been able to take her place in his heart.

"Marion...is she all right?" His heart was in his throat as he asked the question.

"She was taken to a local hospital with a serious head injury. That's all the information I have. I'm sorry."

* * *

She'd loved her job as a photographer, had lived for the satisfaction of seeing her work in magazines or displayed on walls, even on the walls of her own apartment. What would her life be like if she could never take another photograph? She'd have to pursue an entirely different vocation, yet she wasn't sure if she'd ever even have the heart to do so, as all she'd ever wanted to be was a photographer.

Unable to see anything except shadows, various shades of grey, she found that she was now almost totally helpless, that she had to be fed and led to the restroom. It frustrated and depressed her, as before, she'd considered herself to be fairly independent.

During the early days of adjusting to her new condition, she found her mind drifting back to him more and more often. Petite, blond, and handsome, he'd attracted her from the start. His standoffish mannerisms had only made her desire him more, and the time in the cell when he'd finally proven to her that he could 'pretend he was a human' and held her had cemented a bond between the two of them that had persisted even after they'd parted ways. No other man she'd dated since then had come anywhere close to replacing him in her heart, and she knew that none of them ever would.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello, Illya." Napoleon's voice was strained, and he avoided meeting his former partner's eyes.

"Napoleon." Illya gave a curt nod. The relationship between the two men had cooled following a mission in Yugoslavia in which the Russian had been betrayed by the double agent Janus and a girl had been killed. Following that tragedy, Illya had started Vanya's, and Napoleon had become, first a private detective in London, then a computer salesman.

"So where do you suppose Gervaise could be?" asked Napoleon.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Illya replied coldly.

"I suppose her old haunt would be as good a place as any to start looking for her," said Napoleon.

They headed for the secret lab where the fear-inducing gas had been prepared to find that, not surprisingly, it no longer existed. Instead, a 'for rent' sign hung on the door of the abandoned building.

A quick search of the city directory located the owner of the building that had housed the lab. "A theater company rented it for awhile, and a building supply company before that," the owner said. "Before that, it was rented by...let's see..." He quickly consulted a file. "Ah, yes. Here it is. Fellow named Stone. Older guy. Just skipped out without paying the rent one day. Weird."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged a meaningful glance. Roger Stone had been one of the aliases of the now-deceased Harold Bufferton.

"Do you remember a young black-haired woman who was often seen in Stone's company?" Napoleon asked the man.

"Matter of fact, I do. Just saw her not long ago, in fact. She's blonde and wears her hair short now, but I could tell it was her. Rode with her on the subway. She got off at...let's see...Greenwich Village."

"And how long ago was that?"

The man frowned. "I'd say at least two or three weeks ago."

Illya headed for Broadway, Napoleon in the direction of the Hudson River. Illya found her in line at a supermarket. She saw him at the same time and turned to flee. He was after her in a flash.

* * *

"Marion?"

"Illya!" She recognized his voice as soon as she heard it.

"I came as soon as I could." He went to her bedside and sat beside her bed. She turned toward the sound of his voice.

"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively.

"I can't see." A sob caught in her throat.

"What?!" Illya was shocked. Her eyes looked perfectly normal to him.

"The part of my brain that controls vision was damaged. I can't see anything but shadows now. They don't know how much of my sight I'll ever be able to get back...if any of it."

Cold fury surged through Illya as he looked into Marion's beautiful blue eyes. Never before had he ever hated anyone like he hated Gervaise Ravel at that moment. True, he had apprehended the woman, and she now awaited trial in one of New York's most secure prisons, but even the harshest punishment meted out to her wouldn't return Marion's sight.

"I'm so sorry." Illya took Marion's hand in his own. It felt slim and cool to the touch.

"Did they find out who did it yet?" she asked.

"It's suspected that Gervaise Ravel was behind the bombing," he told her. "She's in prison now, where she belongs. She can't hurt you anymore."

"But why does she hate me so much?" Marion's voice was full of agony.

"The criminal mind is difficult to understand," Illya replied. "Obviously, she holds you responsible for the thwarting of her plan to take over the world, and for the death of Harold Bufferton."

"She wants me dead." Marion's voice sounded small, frightened.

"You are safe now," Illya assured her.

"But what if she didn't act alone?" asked Marion. "If there were accomplices, you can rest assured they will be apprehended soon," Illya replied. "If anyone wants to harm you, they will have to go through me first."

Yet even as he said the words, the Russian realized that he wouldn't be able to guard Marion around the clock. There was no one he could trust to completely take over the management of Vanya's for an indefinite period of time, and failure of his business would likely mean a one-way ticket back to the Soviet Union, where his reception would be icy at best.

Yet he couldn't bear the thought of letting the beautiful, vulnerable blonde down yet again. Gervaise Ravel had already escaped the grasp of UNCLE twice. It must not happen again.


	3. Chapter 3

Gervaise Ravel fumed as she paced back and forth in her tiny cell. The bombing of the bus had gone so smoothly, all the plans falling beautifully into place. She couldn't believe that Marion Raven had actually survived, and not only that, but that the unbeatable team of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were now on the case as well. She knew that if she were convicted, she'd likely face a lifetime in prison, while Marion continued to live her life as a free woman. That thought infuriated her.

The only consolation she had was that her accomplices were still on the loose, that they knew exactly where Marion was and wouldn't give up until she was out of the way.

* * *

Back at work at Vanya's, Illya was unable to keep his mind on his job. The thought of beautiful, sweet Marion lying there in the hospital blind and helpless was almost more than he could bear.

A tall, leggy brunette arrived. "I'm Kathy," she told Illya. "I hope I'm not too late for the photo shoot!"

Illya glanced quickly at his watch. He'd completely forgotten about Kathy's appointment that day. "Not at all!" he said cordially. "Come this way, please." He led the model to the dressing rooms in the back of the store, where he showed her the dresses he wanted modeled. While he was with her, he heard the door chime.

"Excuse me," he said, leaving Kathy alone. He saw that a mother and her teenage daughter had entered the store and were looking around. "Can I be of assistance?" he asked.

"My Cheryl needs a dress for her school's prom," the woman told him.

Illya gave the teenage girl a quick appraisal. "Ah, yes," he said. "I believe I have just the thing." He led the two to the section of the store containing the formals.

Between assisting customers and photographing models, Illya managed to remain occupied for most of that day. Eager to return to Marion's side, he waited until business slowed to the point that it was unlikely to pick up, then closed the shop early and dashed to the hospital.

When he arrived, he saw that she was dozing lightly. Quietly he took a seat beside her bed, thinking how angelic she looked lying there peacefully. He was unable to resist lightly stroking her blonde hair.

Startled, she jerked awake, her unseeing eyes wide with fright.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Illya exclaimed. "Do not be afraid. It is only me."

"Illya!" She laughed softly in relief as he bent to kiss her forehead.

"And how have you been?" he asked.

"About the same. Without being able to see, there isn't much to do except eat and sleep."

"I could bring books and read to you," Illya offered.

"That's all right," Marion said. "I know you're a very busy man."

"Not too busy for you," he replied. "Oh, look, here comes your dinner!"

On the tray containing Marion's meal, the Russian spied a sugar cookie with a suspicious-looking white powder sprinkled on top. Quickly he slipped it into his pocket, then helped Marion to eat.

"Tell me, Illya," she said when she'd finished eating.

"What?" he asked softly.

"Were any of the other passengers on that bus...killed?"

"No."

"Thank God. I couldn't have stood it if someone else had died because of me."

"No, Marion. It would not have been because of you!" Illya exclaimed. "It would have been because of Gervaise Ravel." _And whoever she has working for her, _he added to himself.

* * *

"We have to get here out of there!" Illya urged Napoleon. "Someone is trying to kill her! I took the cookie they served her for dinner to the lab and had it tested. It's full of arsenic!"

"But where shall we take her?" asked Napoleon. "She's under a doctor's care. We'll have to somehow get her into another hospital, and how do you know she'll be safe there?"

"I'll take care of her myself," Illya replied. "You recall that I do have basic medical training."

"I just hope you realize what you're getting into," said Napoleon.

"Of course I do!"

* * *

The cool night breeze on the skin of her face awakened Marion, and she realized that she was being moved, that unseen hands were on her body, transferring her out of her hospital room and into the unknown. She tried to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

Marion tried desperately to break free but was unable to wrench herself away from the grasp of the strong hands that held her firmly. She felt herself being carried, then placed on a soft surface. A moment later, she heard what had to be a car's door slamming shut.

A moment later, the gag had been removed from her mouth, and arms were around her, comforting her. "Do not be afraid, Marion," said Illya. "Napoleon and I are taking you somewhere where you'll be safe."

"But why wasn't I safe at the hospital?" asked Marion.

"Someone there was trying to kill you," Illya told her. "They served you a poisoned cookie with your meal last night."

"They _did?" _Marion was shocked.

"Gervaise obviously had accomplices planted at the hospital," Illya replied. "That is why we had to get you away from there as quickly as possible. I am sorry we frightened you, but I am sure you can understand why we had to smuggle you out as we did."

Calmed by the Russian's soothing words, Marion felt herself begin to grow drowsy in his arms. "But where are you taking me?"

"A motel across town. It is sparse but adequate. I will take care of all your personal needs."

Marion was repulsed by the idea of Illya helping her to the restroom, Illya helping her to shower or bathe, Illya cleaning up after her. "If you don't mind," she said timidly. "I would prefer for there to be a woman available to take care of my personal needs."

"Now is not the time for modesty," Illya gently reproved her. "You can be assured that I will always treat you with the utmost respect."

"I would never doubt that," Marion replied. "It's just that..." She began to cry softly. "Oh, Illya, it's just _so _hard to be helpless like this!"

"I know." He held her and rubbed her back comfortingly. Before they reached their destination, she was asleep in his arms.

* * *

"She's slipped out of our hands," Gerard Ravel told his sister, Gervaise. "She's vanished from the hospital. Someone obviously suspected something and helped her to escape. I feel sure those two troublesome meddlers Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had something to do with it."

"Well, you two incompetent fools had better find her, and fast!" Gervaise's eyes blazed with anger as she glared at Gerard and their brother, Germaine.

"Aw, give us a break, Sis!" Germaine whined. "We're trying as hard as we can to find her!"

"Well, try harder!" Gervaise shrieked.

"We will," Gerard said humbly.

"Aren't you getting tired of letting her push you around?" Germaine asked his brother later, when they were alone. "She's been bossing both of us around since we were kids, and I'm getting pretty sick and tired of it!"

"Shut your trap, or I'll shut it for you!" Gerard growled.

"Just look at you, always taking _her_ side!" Germaine whined.

* * *

The bed in the motel room was more comfortable than the one in the hospital had been, but Marion felt anxious at the thought of no longer being under the care of professional health care providers. She trusted Illya, but she was afraid of being a burden on him and Napoleon.

When the ache in her abdomen first started, she tried to tell herself that she was imagining things, that the vague pain was merely a result of her tendency to over worry. She dozed for a bit, and when she awakened, the pain was much sharper, and the urge to evacuate her bowels was overpowering.

"Illya!" she cried. "I need to use the restroom, right away!"

He took her arm and led her to the toilet. The powerful spasms coursing through the lower part of her body didn't allow her the luxury of waiting to make sure Illya had left the restroom first. She was seated just in time.

Painfully aware of the sounds made by her body's natural functions, she barely even noticed the relief she felt afterwards. She found the restroom door by touch and just stood there, trying to remember which direction the bed was in.

"Marion! Why didn't you call me? You could have fallen and hurt yourself!" Illya scolded.

"I don't want to be a burden..."

"You're going right back to bed this instant!" He took her arm and guided her back to the bed.

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled, feeling her face burn.

"I did not mean to sound harsh," Illya said apologetically. "I am only concerned for your safety."

"I know," Marion said quietly. She was hardly back in bed before her stomach was rumbling again, but it was a different type of discomfort this time. "Bring a bowl, quick!" she gasped. She felt her stomach heaving, felt herself retching, prayed that Illya had caught it all in the bowl.

"Did any get on the bed or the floor?" she asked.

"No. It all went in the bowl," Illya said. A few moments later, she felt him gently wiping her face with a wet cloth. "There. Is that better?"

"Much," she mumbled, acutely embarrassed once again. "Thank you."

"No problem at all," he said. "Try to get some rest now." He helped her to lie down, then sat at her side gently rubbing her back until she fell asleep. Then he went to talk to Napoleon in private.

"I fear that Marion has contracted food poisoning," he told his former partner. "Someone must have served her spoiled food at the hospital, perhaps deliberately."

"It could just be a stomach bug," Napoleon suggested.

"Perhaps," Illya replied. "But I doubt it. We must be vigilant to ensure that she does not become dehydrated. If that happens, she must be hospitalized again."

Marion had severe diarrhea and vomiting for several days. Illya fed her flat ginger ale, clear broth, and fruit-flavored Popsicles, and on the third day, her symptoms finally subsided.

* * *

Gerard and Germaine Ravel combed all the neighborhoods of New York, gradually venturing further and further out, until they eventually found themselves on the other side of town from where they'd started. "Hey, look!" Germaine suddenly shouted. Outside an out-of-the-way motel, he'd caught a glimpse of a vehicle he recognized. Gerard saw it too and gave a whoop of joy. He recognized it as well.


	5. Chapter 5

"We shall return after dark and take them by surprise," Gerard said to his brother.

"You fool!" Germaine growled. "Don't you know one of them will be standing guard all night?"

"That won't be a problem," Gerard said smugly. "I'll take care of him, whichever one it is."

It was Napoleon's turn to stand guard for the first half of that night. Everything seemed to be going fine when he suddenly felt himself becoming unbearably sleepy. He fought the sensation as diligently as he could, but within a few moments, he had slumped to the ground, snoring softly.

Gerard and Germaine wasted no time in kicking in the motel room door. Illya, awakened by the noise, pulled himself out of a heavy sleep to confront the two thugs who were staring at him with crazed eyes, their weapons drawn.

"Hand over the girl right away, Kuryakin, or you're dead meat!" Gerard barked.

Illya threw himself over Marion's body. "To get to her, you will have to go through me first!" he growled.

"Look at the knight in shining armor, willing to lay down his life for his fair maiden," Germaine sneered to his brother. Suddenly he felt a sneeze coming on. "Ah...ah...ah...choo!" His gun went off, firing a bullet into the wall.

"You idiot!" Gerard screamed, dropping his own gun and attacking his brother.

The two villains were distracted just long enough for Illya to grab his weapon from its hiding place and shoot both men dead. After doing so, he roused the sleeping Napoleon with much difficulty and convinced him that they had to leave as quickly as possible.

"Two armed men came for Marion!" he exclaimed. "I killed them both, but there may be more of them!"

"What happened?" cried Marion as she stumbled around blindly with both arms out in front of her. "Illya? Are you all right?"

"I am all right, Marion," Illya told her. "But we must leave right away. I will explain it all to you later."

Illya somehow got Napoleon and Marion to his vehicle and drove them both back to his apartment.

"That stuff had to have been pretty powerful," Napoleon remarked. "I still feel very woozy."

"I am sure that it will wear off soon," Illya told him.

"What's he talking about?" cried Marion, alarmed. "Where am I?"

"We are at my apartment," Illya told her. "You are safe now. Everything is all right. There was some trouble back at the motel. Some men came for you, but they are gone now. It is all over with...darling."

"But you told me I'd be safe at the motel!" Marion protested. "But as it turned out, all three of us were almost killed!"

"I am very sorry, Marion." He placed a hand on her arm to calm her down. "I have no idea how they found us at the motel, but they are both dead now, so they cannot hurt you anymore."

"Dead?"

"I...had to kill them, Marion. If I had not, they would have killed all three of us."

"Oh, Illya!" Marion began to sob hard, and Illya held and comforted her until she calmed down.

* * *

A few days later, Marion entered a blindness training center, where she learned Braille and how to get around with a cane. Illya visited her as often as he could, and they spent many hours sitting on the porch swing holding hands and talking, or strolling the grounds of the treatment center, Illya describing the scenery as well as he could while she practiced walking with her cane.

However, Gervaise Ravel's trial for the bombing of the bus was rapidly approaching, and Marion dreaded having to witness against her. "The idea of standing up in a courtroom with everyone's eyes on you...saying things that you know will send someone away to prison for a very long time...it's just so scary!"

"Think of it this way," said Illya. "You are going to help put her away so that she can never again hurt anyone else like she hurt you."

"It helps to think of it that way," Marion replied. "But I'm still scared."

"I know you are." Gently he squeezed her hand in comfort.

One morning he came to visit her to find her looking even prettier than usual. She was wearing a red-and-white checked dress and had red ribbons in her hair. Learning to dress herself was one of the tasks she had accomplished at the training center. She smiled as soon as he entered the room.

"I love it when you wear blue," she told him. "It goes so well with your eyes."

He gasped, surprised. "You can see again now!"

"Not very well," she told him. "But I can see colors again."

"Oh, Marion!" Joyfully he picked her up and embraced her, then set her back down and looked into her eyes. "I knew that this day would come!"


	6. Chapter 6

The face was little more than a blur, but Marion could make out the blue eyes she knew so well, the unruly blond hair framing the visage of the man whom she'd quickly come to regard as her hero. Gently she ran her fingers over his features now, feeling his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, his chin. "You're just as I remember you," she told him at last.

"And you are more beautiful than ever," he replied. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

He'd planned to take her on a picnic in the park that day. He was wearing tan shorts and a white shirt and carried the picnic basket. The sun shone brightly as they set out. Marion had decided that she didn't need her walking cane and instead clung to Illya's arm for support. As the weather was perfect, they'd decided to walk to the park. The sidewalk was a bit uneven, and Marion almost tripped a couple of times.

They heard the shouting and laughter of children as they approached the large, grassy field that was dotted with shade trees and playground equipment. Illya steered Marion in the direction of the picnic tables that were beside the lake.

"I'd forgotten how green the grass was," Marion remarked. "And the sky is so blue!"

The wonder and joy on her face touched Illya's heart. He knew she'd never take the beauty of nature for granted again.

The Russian opened the picnic basket and took out the wine, the fried chicken, the potato salad, and the rolls. "Why, you've prepared a feast!" Marion exclaimed.

Illya smiled. "The deli on the corner prepared the feast. I simply brought it."

Weary of the institutional food served at the training center, Marion ate ravenously. "Slow down!" Illya laughed. "I do not want you to choke!"

"This is just _so _good!" Marion said in between mouthfuls.

A trio of ducks waddled up to them. "Oh, aren't they cute!" Marion exclaimed, tearing off bits of bread and feeding them to the ducks. They quacked animatedly as they scurried to retrieve the crumbs, grasping them in their beaks and gulping them down, their throats bobbing as they did so. Looking at Marion's face, Illya was seized with a sudden urge to kiss her.

When they'd finished eating, Illya stood and reached for Marion's hand, and they began to stroll beside the lake, admiring the scenery. The warmth of the small hand clasped tightly in his own cheered Illya, and it occurred to him that he wanted to be beside Marion always, to comfort and guide her, to be a companion to her on life's journey. He'd never felt that way about a woman before, and it both frightened and exhilarated him.

Marion felt the first drop of wetness as it hit her nose, and a soft rain was soon sprinkling down over them. Holding hands, Illya and Marion ran for the shelter of the awning covering the picnic tables. Once they were safe and dry, Illya turned and embraced Marion, and she held his face between her hands as they began to kiss one another with abandon.

* * *

Soon Marion could see well enough to leave the training center and move back into her own apartment. The first day of Gervaise Ravel's trial arrived soon afterwards. Marion's face was pale, and she shook visibly as she took the witness stand. She answered the prosecuting attorney's questions clearly and precisely, but then the defense attorney began firing questions at her almost more quickly than she could answer them. _Come on, Marion! You can do it! _Illya cheered her on silently.

Illya saw Gervaise Ravel's blazing eyes burning into Marion as she told of waking up in the hospital blind, of the poisoned cookie and Illya and Napoleon's daring rescue, of the surprise attack by Gerard and Germaine.

Later, Gervaise Ravel herself took the stand. At first she claimed to have no knowledge of the bus bombing, but as the story unraveled, it soon became evident that her testimony had been entirely fabricated.

It didn't take the jury long to convict Gervaise of the bombing. As she was led away, she glared at Marion. "I'm going to get you!" she hissed. "My brothers may be dead, but I've got plenty of friends! Mark my words, you'll rue the day you walked into this courtroom!"


	7. Chapter 7

_Warning: Mild het_

Marion turned to Illya with frightened eyes.

"Do not be afraid, _malenkaya," _he said soothingly. "I will protect you with my life, if I have to."

"No! Don't say that!" she protested.

"Please do not worry," Illya chuckled. "I believe that both of us are quite safe now. I hope that you will join myself and Napoleon for dinner at this cozy little cafe near Vanya's."

"I'd love to!" Marion replied.

Thirty minutes later, Napoleon was waving them both over to a corner table at the nearly-deserted establishment. The walls were painted yellow, and the floor, tables and chairs were all made of unpainted hard wood. Lights were suspended from the ceiling, and decorations hung on the walls. In the homey atmosphere, Marion quickly began to relax.

"So how did the trial go?" asked Napoleon.

"As well as could be expected," Illya told him. "Gervaise was found guilty on all counts and has been sent away to prison for a very long time."

"Well, we couldn't have asked for a better outcome, could we have?" Napoleon replied. "And thanks to you, young lady, the friendship between myself and Illya has been restored," he continued to Marion.

The three ate their meal and stayed at the cafe chatting until it was quite late. At last Illya noticed the time, and the three of them were on their way.

"Won't you come in for just a little while?" Marion asked Illya when they reached her apartment.

"All right." He really didn't feel like leaving yet, anyway.

Marion selected a record and put it on her record player, and soon the soft strains of Stan Getz filled the living room as she and Illya sat on the sofa together with his arm around her and her head resting on his shoulder.

"Sitting here with you, all the bad things that have happened recently just seem like so very long ago," Marion remarked.

"I am so glad that it is all over with and you are safe at last," Illya replied.

Suddenly they heard a loud clap of thunder. Chagrined, Illya arose from the sofa and headed for the door.

"Oh, no, please don't leave!" Marion cried. "I'm terrified of thunderstorms!"

"If I do not go now, I will have to stay the night..." Illya looked indecisive.

"Could you? Please?" Marion begged. "I have extra pillows and blankets..."

"Very well." He knew that he could never refuse those soft blue eyes.

She retrieved the quilts and pillows and arranged them on the sofa for him, then disappeared into her bedroom. As soon as she'd left, he stripped down to his underwear and slid between the soft, cool quilts. He'd been asleep for a couple of hours when he heard the scream from the bedroom.

Instantly awake, it took him a moment to remember where he was, and when he did, he lost no time in dashing to Marion's bedroom. He switched on the light to see her cowering in bed, shaking in fear.

"Marion!" he exclaimed, going to her and gathering her into his arms. "Are you all right?"

"I had a bad dream," she told him shakily. "Gervaise was chasing me. She'd just caught up to me and grabbed me when I woke up and found myself alone in the dark."

_"Bednaya devotchka." _He held her and rubbed her back soothingly. "It is all right. It was just a dream, that is all. You are safe."

"You have always been so good to me, Illya," Marion murmured.

He chuckled. "And why should I not have been?"

She raised her head to look into his eyes, and he felt the sudden urge to kiss her. As their lips met, passion was suddenly inflamed in them both. They lay back on the bed together, their tongues mingling, her fingers stroking his hair, his caressing her upper body through her clothing.

Lightly his hand grazed the front of her nightgown, feeling the firmness of her erect nipples through its thin material. His fingers grasped the hem of the nightgown and lifted it over her head and off, and then his mouth was on one of them, suckling gently. An encouraging moan from her caused him to begin suckling more urgently, switching to the other nipple after a few moments. In the meantime, the fingers of one hand slipped beneath the narrow elastic of her panties as she spread her legs to give him further access to her most intimate parts.

At the same time, her fingers made their way inside his underpants, where they grasped his erection, traveling its length to lightly massage its sensitive tip, which caused an involuntary groan to escape his lips.

Within seconds, they were both completely naked, and at last he entered her, her moist warmth enclosing him, his firm smoothness stimulating her inner core to almost unimaginable heights of pleasure.

Afterwards they lay together, both of them fully sated, drowsy and comfortable, their recent ordeal now far behind them.

Marion was still asleep when Illya awakened the following morning. To him she looked almost like an angel lying there with one moist blonde curl scattered across her forehead, her long, soft eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks. He knew that he could never awaken her, yet he didn't want to leave without saying good-bye. In the end, he gently brushed the stray curl back from her forehead, kissed her on the spot where it had lain, and softly tiptoed away.

* * *

Illya couldn't get Marion off his mind for the rest of that day, and when he returned home that evening, he immediately dialed her telephone number but got no reply. He tried to call her several more times over the evening but never got an answer. The following evening, he stopped by her apartment, only to find it deserted.


	8. Epilogue

**One Year Later**

It was a slow morning, and Illya was catching up on some paperwork when she entered Vanya's. His heart began to flutter when he saw her. She was carrying an infant wrapped in a blue blanket.

"I thought you'd want to meet him," she said.

Shocked, Illya folded the edge of the blanket back to see his own clear blue eyes staring solemnly back at him.

"I named him Elijah Nicholas Kuryakin," she continued.

"How old is he?" asked Illya.

"He just turned three months old a week ago today."

"He's beautiful." Illya's voice was little more than a whisper. "May I hold him?"

"Of course!"

Gently Illya gathered the warm bundle into his arms. The blue eyes now regarded him quizzically. "Who is this strange person holding me?" they seemed to ask.

"Hello," Illya said softly. The infant smiled, showing his toothless gums. Illya felt his heart melt.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked Marion.

"I wanted to, but I couldn't," she told him. "They put me in the witness protection program. They were afraid Gervaise might still have contacts on the outside who could try to harm me. They sent me to the Virgin Islands to work as a maid at a resort. They even gave me a new name, Jillian Howe. I was absolutely forbidden from contacting anyone I knew from before."

Elijah began to whimper. Marion took him into her arms and shushed him.

"Then how were you able to return to New York?" asked Illya.

"They finally felt that it was safe for me to do so."

"Your apartment?"

"It's already gone, of course. I have a new one, a nicer one, on the other side of town now."

"And have you returned to working as a photographer?"

"I plan to soon."

"And who will care for Elijah?"

"I shall have to take him along with me or hire a nanny, of course."

"It is a slow morning," Illya said. "I will close the shop for a couple of hours. We need to talk."

"Yes, we do," Marion agreed.

They took a walk to the same park they'd gone to before. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing. They sat together on a bench, watching people walking past and children swinging. Elijah began to cry. Marion took a bottle from the diaper bag she carried and fed him.

"I tried to call you the next day," Illya began. "I never got an answer. I went to your apartment, but there was no trace of you there. You cannot begin to imagine how worried I was. I had no idea what had happened to you."

"I'm so sorry," Marion said. "I wanted very badly to contact you, to let you know that I was all right, but I was too afraid." She gazed down at the child in her arms. "I missed you so much, Illya. I really hoped that...we could be together again. They'd already sent me to the Virgin Islands when...when I found out that Elijah was on the way, that now I had someone else to worry about besides just myself. I knew that whatever I did, I absolutely couldn't compromise my son's safety. He was born on a stormy night after twelve hours of labor. When I saw him for the first time, all I could think about was how much he looked like you. I knew that there had to be a way that the three of us could be together. I returned to New York the first opportunity I had. I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was to find out that you were still here and in the same place." A single tear trickled from her eye, and Illya gently wiped it away with his finger.

"And I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am to see you again, and to meet our son," he replied.

Elijah had finished his bottle, and Marion put him on her shoulder to burp him. Watching them together, Illya felt an emotion he'd never felt before.

"Please tell me you are here to stay," he murmured.

"Of course I am," she replied. "With you is where I belong."

Sitting on the bench beside the woman he loved and the child they'd made together, Illya knew he'd never felt more content.


End file.
